


Grant that I can stay the night

by theratchild



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Fluff, Holidays, M/M, tis the season y'all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-11
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2019-02-13 11:43:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12983355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theratchild/pseuds/theratchild
Summary: Derek Hale leaves Beacon Hills, and he is happy. After a while, he quietly returns, arriving for the holidays.





	Grant that I can stay the night

Derek Hale leaves Beacon Hills.

He moves to a city away from the east and west coasts where no one knows him, and it’s quiet but busy enough. If there are werewolves here, they leave him alone. He doesn’t try to find out. He moves above a place that smells nice, maybe a coffee shop, with a flower shop next door, and a restaurant across the street.

 _The mochas are nice here_ , he texts Lydia. He snaps a bouquet of lilies to Kira and the yellow curry to Stiles.

Maybe he lets himself get a little soft in the tummy. He’s grown out his beard, and maybe he tries out the manbun for a while. (He wonders what the others would think. He might be too shy to snap them a pic of that.)

He keeps in touch with everyone while they’re in college. Maybe Lydia went to NYU or Columbia. (They begin a snap war of coffee and teashops.) Maybe Stiles went to Stanford. (Stiles shares his booklist with Derek.) Maybe Scott and Kira went to Berkeley. (Scott sends him a photo of the two of them balancing on the same tightrope on a lawn.) Maybe they all went to UCLA. Maybe Malia went to a community college to catch up. Maybe she went off to meet up with Cora in South America, two cousins catching up and adventuring together.

—

Derek Hale leaves Beacon Hills, and he is happy. After a while, he quietly visits, arrives a couple days before the others during holidays. He drops in to say hello to Melissa and the sheriff. They greet him warmly, with a bit of surprise and a bit of knowing. He doesn’t think twice before sending the pack a snap of the two standing next to each other by the stove, shoulders touching. At least now the pack will know he’s back in town.

“You got a place to stay, son?” the sheriff asks over dinner.

Derek shrugs, “I’ve got an place set up somewhere, arranged it online.” He lost his family home to the county. He hasn’t decided what to do, if he should buy back the land. He figured he should let the soil settle. He didn’t want to go back to the loft because he didn’t want to be alone there. Just thinking about it makes his breath quick.

“Oh, Derek,” Melissa frowns, “you should have asked to stay with us.” Derek blushes. He wants to accept, he does-

“Well, we’ve already got a place for you upstairs, toward the foot of the stairs,” the sheriff points with his fork upstairs.

“Away from the boys’ rooms,” Melissa assures him.

“And I can talk to that person you set up a place with,” the sheriff smiles at him before he shrugs on his jacket and heads out for a final shift before his vacation for the holidays. Derek stares at the door, wondering what that could mean.

Derek takes his duffle to the guest room, and sits on the bed. It smells nice, even though it isn’t his. Warm, safe. It smells like Stiles, and a bit of Scott, and, once he relaxes, pack.

The next day, he lays flowers over graves: his parents, Laura’s, Erica’s, Boyd’s, Allison’s. He stays there most of the day in the cold, walks around a bit, forgets lunch.

 _remember to eat_ , comes a text from Stiles. No preamble, no questions as to how he is or where he’s been. Derek takes it as his cue to head back, get ready for the others.

Scott and Stiles are already there setting up the table for dinner. Scott bounds over to him and claps him on the back, shakes his hand and pulls him into a hug. Stiles steps up lightly, a quiet, soft smile on his lips. He hugs Derek as well, gentle, giving him space to pull away if he needs to. Derek doesn’t need to. It’s the way things should have always been. Night falls, and the others have headed to bed but Stiles and Derek stay up and talk. Nothing happens, just talking by the dying fire, the living room bathed in warm orange glow, ornaments on the tree glinting in the light.

They keep talking, each night. About college life, about Derek’s new town, old stories, sometimes missing Allison, the garden Derek would like to start, the errands Stiles will run in the morning. For now, they quietly avoid talking about how they healed. Derek keeps his hands in his lap, fingers laced together. It’s calm and good, but sometimes he’ll quietly tap his fingers against the back of his palms, even as they talk. One, two, three, four, five. One, two three, four five.

Stiles must have noticed at one point. A couple nights later, Stiles moves a little closer, slowly, like he knows how to approach someone still healing, like he knows Derek might startle and run off and leave again. Stiles sits closer and takes Derek’s clasped hands, and pulls them gently apart. Derek looks up, but Stiles isn’t looking at Derek, he’s concentrating. He has this soft look in his eyes, something Derek didn’t think could ever be directed at him, and all of a sudden, Derek is scared.

Derek tries to pull back, to close his fist, to count his fingers one more time. But Stiles catches him, “Hold on,” his voice cracking into a whisper, but so loud and clear to Derek. Stiles fits their hands together, lacing their fingers, presses one, two, three, four, five against Derek, and smiles, small and sleepy, at him.

They’re on the couch, and Stiles gently lays his head next to Derek, careful not to touch him more, and Derek doesn’t know what to focus on. Their clasped hands; Stiles’ face so close to his own, so trusting; the warmth of Stiles’ body; Stiles’ heart slipping into a steady beat just as Stiles’ eyes close with tiredness.

Derek tries to relax, tries to match his rapid heartbeat to Stiles’ sleep-slow one. He hopes his hand doesn’t get sweaty, then frowns at the childishness of the thought. He stares at Stiles sleeping face, no frown furrowing his brow, color back in his cheeks, eyes not as sunken in, lips slightly parted. Derek looks down at their hands and sweeps his thumb across the back of Stiles’ hand on instinct. He lets himself fall asleep.

—

Derek wakes up alone on the couch, his hand still in the same position. He smells breakfast, fresh fruit, eggs and bacon. He listens for heartbeats, and hears Stiles in the kitchen, the only other person in the house. He pads over to see Stiles in a thick navy blue robe, standing over the stove.

Derek clears his throat, and Stiles startles, nearly loses the spatula and a strip of bacon. Stiles finally whirls around, his hair is flat against his head, and there’s a fabric imprint from the Derek’s shirt on his cheek, fading. Derek doesn’t know how to where to hold his hands. He settles for hanging them loosely against his sides.

“There’s- um, there’s fresh coffee over there,” Stiles jabs to a corner of the kitchen and turns quickly back to the food.

“Where’s everyone else?” Derek asks while pouring a cup. He walks over to Stiles, leans against the counter by him.

“Dad and Melissa went somewhere, maybe for more tinsel or cinnamon,” he slides the bacon off onto a plate, moves to carry the plate over to the table. “And I think Scott is getting breakfast with Kira.” Derek cradles his mug, feels the heat from it radiate into his palms.

“Okay. Thanks for breakfast,” Derek says and kisses him. Derek kisses Stiles before he loses his nerve. He kisses Stiles in Stiles’ kitchen with a plate of bacon between them.

Stiles makes a small noise in surprise, going stock still. He pulls back slowly, and Derek feels himself lean forward to chase after him, but Stiles is ducking his head, and Derek starts to grip his mug tighter, his heart starts to hiccup in his chest.

“Wait,” Stiles chuckles, “Let me put these down before I drop them, hold on, I- I’ve been wanting to-” and Stiles is blushing and he’s smiling, and Derek relaxes. Stiles turns back to Derek, lifts his hands to cradle Derek’s face, palms pressing lightly into his cheeks, and kisses him firmly. Derek puts his mug down too. It takes two tries to get it on the counter.

—

Stiles and Derek are eating their cold breakfast when Melissa and the sheriff get back home, stamping the snow off their shoes. Under the table, Stiles has one of Derek’s ankles between his own.

“Good morning, boys,” Melissa kisses both of their cheeks before going down the hall. “Let Scott know he can come back now,” she calls out to them.

The sheriff steals a slice of bacon. Stiles doesn’t notice.

Derek Hale leaves Beacon Hills, but he comes back home.

**Author's Note:**

> I actually sat on this fic because I wrote it earlier this year after the holiday season. I don't write often but I kept thinking of something like this. There are a lot of "maybes" in the beginning because I originally wrote this to be very open-ended when it came to specifics like that. But one thing is for certain: they are happier and healthier.
> 
> The title is from Florence and the Machine's "Too Much Is Never Enough" because FFXV has been on the mind. Thanks to emb_pface for the beta ;0;


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